


Blue Neighbourhood

by littledaybreaker



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledaybreaker/pseuds/littledaybreaker
Summary: A series of tiny Queliot vignettes inspired by Troye Sivan's Blue Neighbourhood.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) there are 16 of these little babies altogether, and then there are ten more I wrote based on "Bloom", because...I am an insane person. None of these are strictly related to each other in any way, and all take place in various universes/canons/etc. If any of them require explanations as such I will add them to individual chapter notes. 
> 
> 2) these are all written in such a way that they can be expanded upon later should the mood strike me, and I'm totally open to requests in that field, so if any of them call to you, please let me know!

_ We’re alike, you and I _

_ Two blue hearts locked in our wrong minds _

_ So can we make the most out of no time? _

_ Can you hold me? _

_ Can you make me leave my demons and broken pieces behind? _

Troye Sivan,  _ WILD _

They aren’t  _ boyfriends.  _ Not if you ask Eliot, anyway, who scoffs at the idea. Not if you ask Quentin, because he stumbles over it, blushes so hard his ears turn red, and knocks any nearby object off any nearby desk. Not because he doesn’t want to be. Just because he can’t find the facilities to agree nor disagree. 

In private, though. In the safety of the Physical Kids cottage, the things that hold them both back--Eliot’s intentness on his appearances, of lacking in attachments, his fear of commitment, Quentin’s awkwardness, his insecurities and anxiety--seem to disappear. When it’s just the two of them, their bodies pressed together, in bed or against the wall, in some dark corner of a party, their kisses and touches frantic and needy, none of it matters. They’re the only two people in the world, in those moments, and when they’re over, Quentin longs for them until he has them again. He knows he should feel guilty about it, because Julia is somewhere out there in the city doing God knows what, because there are other people out there in the world, because Eliot is not even his boyfriend (apparently), but he’s the one person in the world who makes Quentin feel safe, turns his brain off. The one person in this wild and terrible world that Quentin has found who truly understands him, and all he ever wants is to basically crawl inside him and stay forever. 

The secret that Eliot doesn’t know how to tell him is that he feels the same. He has Margo, of course. She is in so many ways the other half of his heart, but this boy--this strange, awkward creature of a boy--came tumbling into his life on the day of the entrance exam and turned his world upside down in ways he could never have anticipated. He keeps it compartmentalized because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Because he’s afraid that if he doesn’t, he’ll crush Quentin to death with the sheer force of all of his feelings. There’s no precedent for it. Every relationship he’s ever had before this has either been fleeting or disastrous, and in the rare cases where he’s let feelings develop, none of them were as strong as the ones that simply fell into place with Quentin. 

It terrifies him, and he’s never known how to deal with the things that frighten him--not without destroying them, and he’d rather  _ die,  _ rather never drink again, rather have to wear sweatpants and mismatched socks every day of his life than ever so much as say an unkind word to Quentin. Maybe one day he will find the words, but until that day comes, he keeps his feelings in a safe place and everything else for their moments in the cottage, which are often fleeting and are never enough. 


	2. BITE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia makes Quentin go to a club. He meets Eliot. They do not have sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place in a universe where Q does not yet go to Brakebills, but where Julia presumably practices magic/knows Kady somehow. BUT it sets the tone for him to go to Brakebills eventually, should I choose to expand on it in the future.

_ You can coax the cold right out of me _

_ Drape me in your warm _

_ The rapture in the dark puts me at ease _

_ The blind eye of the storm _

_ Let’s go for a walk down Easy Street _

_ Where you can be reborn _

_ And kiss me on the mouth and set me free _

_ But please don’t bite _

Troye Sivan,  _ BITE _

“He’s looking at you,” Julia points out, and Quentin looks. 

“No he isn’t,” Quentin counters, because there is no way that man--tall, thin, impeccably dressed, beautiful in a way that seems surreal in some way, as though he’s actually an optical illusion and not a man at all--is looking at plain, boring Quentin. He’s not even interesting at the best of times, and he’s certainly not interesting right now, not in this sea of beautifully dressed boys with perfectly coiffed hair and perfectly tailored shirts, not with his hair tied back in an awkward little half bun thing, in khakis and one of his button-down going out shirts. Julia had told him at home he looked fine, but Julia  _ lied,  _ and now he feels small and diminished and out of place. 

“He is!” Julia insists, gleeful, and pushes Quentin forward just in time for him to realise that this beautiful ethereal man-being is gliding over to him with a second drink in his hand that he definitely wasn’t holding before. 

“Hello,” the beautiful man-being says, appearing in front of Quentin and handing him the drink. “I’m Eliot.” He’s smiling so brilliantly that Quentin is momentarily blinded, but he somehow manages to not drop the drink, and he does manage something that he hopes looks more like a smile than a grimace back. 

“Uh, Quentin,” he replies, taking a mouthful of the drink so he hopefully won’t have to say any more words.

Eliot holds out one of his long, thin hands, and Quentin has to take another drink really fast because he can’t help noticing how long and beautiful his fingers are, and it’s doing something to him. “Would you like to dance, Uh Quentin?”

Quentin wants to object. Not because he doesn’t want to, exactly, but because he doesn’t really know how to dance, and he’s seen the pilot episode of  _ Angel  _ more than once. But Julia is pushing him forward, so he concedes to it. He takes Eliot’s hand, lets himself be led out onto the floor, allows Eliot to wrap an arm around his waist. As it turns out, there’s not really a lot of skill involved on Quentin’s part--it’s mostly just moving when Eliot moves, allowing himself to synchronize his movements with Eliot’s, and he finds that surprisingly easy. 

They dance until they’re both sweaty and elated, and Quentin casts a glance over his shoulder at Julia, who gives him a thumbs up and a smile and then disappears. This had been the point, after all. Quentin had come out as bisexual a few months prior, but after one disastrous relationship attempt, Quentin had decided he was never going to leave his house again and Julia had decided that it was her duty as his best friend to make sure that didn’t happen, and they had found themselves at this club, one Julia’s friend Kady had told them about. Quentin had been skeptical at first, but even he has to admit now that it’s pretty okay. 

Back at the bar they chat idly a bit. It’s pretty obvious to Quentin that Eliot doesn’t really care about anything he’s saying, but he’s staring at his mouth in such a way that Quentin doesn’t really mind it, and every once in awhile Quentin glances up at Eliot’s face from his hyperfixated Fillory infodump to realise that he’s smiling at him, and he suspects that Eliot doesn’t really mind it, either. 

After awhile, though, Eliot leans over and says, really low in his ear: “Uh Quentin, would you like to get out of here?”

Quentin looks around desperately for Julia. He catches sight of her dark hair at the back of the club, but can’t seem to get her attention, so he sends her a quick text.  _ He wants me to go home with him???? _

_ Go gogogogogogo!!!  _ Comes the reply, and Quentin shrugs, swallows hard, and offers Eliot his hand. He’s reasonably sober, and Eliot appears to be. He doesn’t really know anything about this man, but he feels safe with him in some unplaceable way. He also knows that Julia is only a text away, so he allows himself to be led out of the club and down the stairs by Eliot. 

Out in the crisp air of the night, it seems like Eliot can’t  _ wait  _ to get his hands on him. He pulls him close, a hand on his waist, and kisses him on the neck, and even though Quentin stiffens a bit, he’s smiling. “You don’t like it?” Eliot asks, concerned, studying Quentin’s face as he pours them both into a cab. 

“Oh no,” Quentin replies, perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m--I’m just learning. It’s new to me. I like it. Please don’t stop.” He practically latches himself to Eliot as though he’s afraid that he’ll leave him for revealing this new piece of information, but Eliot just smiles, tucks himself against Quentin’s neck. 

“Sweet, awkward baby,” Eliot murmurs, and kisses Quentin’s neck. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Be gentle,” Quentin says softly, before he has time to think about it. “I’m very fragile.”

Eliot laughs, but it’s a sweet, warm sound. There’s no hint of mockery to it. He looks like the type, Quentin reflects, but he isn’t. He takes Quentin’s hand in his and holds it until they arrive at their destination, which… appears to be an empty lot in Brooklyn. 

“What the fuck,” says Quentin, and there’s that warm laugh again.

“Don’t you trust me?” Eliot replies, and Quentin is very surprised to find that he does, that he takes his hand and allows himself to be led out of the cab. 

They walk hand in hand through the lot, Eliot occasionally leaning over to kiss Quentin’s neck, his shoulder, some other spot, making Quentin shiver and want to get closer. Finally, he leans over, wraps his arms around Quentin’s waist, and tells him to close his eyes, and Quentin surprises himself by doing so. When he opens them again, he finds himself in place he can only describe as a  _ dizzyingly  _ comfortable bedroom. He looks around, blinking in surprise. Eliot is standing nearby, looking just as surprised as he does. “I...don’t have time to process that right now,” he says after a moment, wrapping his arms around Quentin’s waist, backing them both into the most comfortable bed Quentin has ever been in, smiling against his mouth as he kisses him. “Usually we wind up in a brownstone. I’ve never actually brought a boy back here.” He crawls on top of Quentin, kissing his way playfully down his jaw. “You really are special, Quentin,” he says, and his voice is all low and musical and full of warmth in a way that Quentin wishes he could bottle up and save for when he’s sad. 

“I guess,” says Quentin, because he’s never really known what to do with compliments. It makes Eliot laugh, and it’s a beautiful sound. Quentin is sure it’s just the alcohol, but he’s dizzy with how wonderful everything about this boy is. 

He shakes with nerves when Eliot begins undressing him, and he stops, long fingers paused prettily on the buttons of Quentin’s stupid shirt. “What’s the matter, darling boy?” he asks, and kisses the hollow of Quentin’s shirt. 

“Oh nothing,” Quentin says, feeling incomprehensibly stupid, and then, “It’s just, I’m not, I’ve never…” He hadn’t wanted to admit that, because if he’s learned anything about Eliot it’s that even though he seems like he shouldn’t be, he’s a nice man, and now they’re not going to have sex even though Quentin wants to. “...but I want to!” he adds, quick and desperate.

Eliot studies his face. “Nooo,” he says after a moment, leaning down to kiss Quentin long and slow and sweet. Quentin tries to suppress his disappointment. What a stupid thing to say when you’re about to have sex with the most beautiful boy in the world. “We’ll have to work up to that,” he declares, and Quentin’s brain suddenly goes sparkly, because that implies that Eliot wants to see him again.

So even though they don’t have sex that night, they spend the whole night in that obscenely comfortable bed together, kissing and touching until Quentin can barely keep his eyes open and he falls asleep all tucked in against Eliot like a baby, and in the morning he even remembers to leave his phone number on the dresser. 

Eliot escorts him back to the vacant lot in Brooklyn, and he walks the rest of the way back to his apartment from there, pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a long walk at all--it’s all meant to be, he thinks goofily to himself, and the other thought that occurs to him is that he  _ really  _ needs to thank Julia for dragging him out to the bar when he gets home.


End file.
